


Unraveled Secrets

by TayTurtle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 'chapter 6' will tell you what you need to know, Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Angst, Gen, Good Tom Riddle, I Don't Even Know, I do not own Harry Potter, Major Original Character(s), Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), Multi, Not Canon Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protective, Protective Tom Riddle, Sane Tom Riddle, Weasley Family Bashing (Harry Potter), Young Tom Riddle, a complete re-work, all rights belong to jkr, also i hope some of you pick up my easter eggs, and all ideas belong to me, and the prefect lecture, anyway, at least as good as can be aka grey to dark, but im not taking it down, but not the twins tho, especially if youre interested in reading, grey twins, harry and luna will come to hogwarts in later years, harry and tom are endgame but not for a whiiiiiiiiile, however this is my fic, like dumbledores speech, lily and james do not live, so this version is basically abanoned, there are also things inspired by the original books, there are parallels and you will be able to notice them, this is being re written, welp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-05-12 14:43:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19231216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TayTurtle/pseuds/TayTurtle
Summary: Micha is starting her first year at Hogwarts, trying to navigate her studies and fulfill her goals, all the while learning the ends and outs of developing relationships. As a descendant of one of the most notable wizards of the world, she keeps her family history hidden from everyone. She is young, but has learned to read the world around her. Her problems escalate, however, when a greying old man takes it upon himself guide her and her friend. Is Micha in danger? Will she tell anyone who she is?Sorting robes//dumbledore bashing//  tom isn't insane he's just a little bby//This version has been discontinued. I will be re-writing it and there will likely be significant changes.





	1. For the First Time Ever

 

* * *

  

 _“Men shrink less from offending one who inspires love than one who inspires fear.”_ _-Niccolo Machiavelli_

   

* * *

 

    Misha blinked owlishly; a single, black curl falling in front of her eyes. There was nothing particularly remarkable about Kings Cross Station, nor the train within it. It had a dark grey finish had chipped, dull blue accents.

 _Oh yes, 'extravagant', they said. Maybe with the amount of people, but that’s up for debate._ She thought, mentally sighing and tucking the curl back in place.

    She had a few things with her, only the necessities, or so it seemed. After receiving her letter from the fluffy black owl a week or so prior to the first of September _—_ and sending her eager acceptance _—_ she had shrunk down her books, grabbed her coin purse, stuffed her metal crest into her pocket before setting off to gather her school necessities. After which, she spent the next several days crossing her fingers that she wouldn't be late or, simply put, get herself lost. The sack that housed all this was a gift; from whom Misha had no idea, simply that it was just that: a gift. This sack was in no way remarkable except that it had an unusual ability to hold anything and everything that is set inside, all the while weighing nothing more than a few quill feathers. Though, don’t assume that meant things were hard to find from within it. On the contrary, all you would have to do is reach in while thinking of what you wanted.

  Taking out the worn slip of paper and her black crest from the pocket of her dark green peacoat, she examined the faded, red pen markings.

_By Merlin’s name let me not be too late._

    She had fumbled with the note for years having it memorized a while ago; at this point, she would merely look at it purely for comfort rather than necessity.

    “Platform 9 3/4,” she mumbled to herself, stuffing the paper back into her pocket and smoothing her fingers of the crest’s edge, tracing the resin figure that protruded ever so slightly. “Get it together, Misha, there’s no one to help you here.”

    Taking a deep, smoak clogged breath, she gripped her crest tight and set off to find the impossible platform within the bubbling crowd.

 

* * *

 

    Kings Cross Station was loud; expectedly so, but that didn’t make it any more pleasant than it already was. The atmosphere was humid and thick with the smell of sweat and coal and fried foods. Rather than get swept up in the two-way flow of passengers, Misha decidedly stuck closer to the pillars as she navigated her way through the area.

    “Platform Nine—Platform Ten. Well, I suppose it’s in the middle. If only there was a middle to be in.” she frowned. “Excuse me, Sir. where might I find a platform Nine and Three-Quarters?”

    The officer that turned to her was plump in the cheeks but slimmed down towards his feet. His handlebar moustache scrunched up with his bushy eyebrows as he grimaced in her general direction.

    “Listen, kid, you’re the fourth person to ask me that this morning. I don't understand what game you're playing, but keep me out of it, you hear? There is no platform Nine and Three-Quarters.” The grizzly man turned away before she could say anything in reply. Not that she knew what to say.

_Fourth? Well, I suppose that’s likely. Maybe I just can't see it. Maybe I—_

    Misha’s thoughts were halted by the soothing voice of a silver-haired man.

   “Come now, Tera, you've done this once before and you see your sisters do it every year. Platform nine and three-quarters, this way, come now.”

   The silver-haired man leads a young boy and two older girls quickly through the station stopping roughly around where Misha happened to have taken root. Each of them, excluding the man, had a trolley of items stacked high, and a pet.

_So that’s what I forgot._

    Misha stepped silently closer to the family and inserted herself behind them as if to adopt them as her own.

    “If it worries you so, let your sisters go first.” The man with the kind voice turned and beckoned to the two taller girls behind him, both also bestowed with silver hair—theirs long and straightened, flattering their dark blue coats. In fact, they all had a rather uniform look. Each of them looked rather regal, all with light blue eyes, blue peacoat tailored to their forms, and silver hair.

    “Papa, we’ll owl you when we get there.” Each of the girls kissed the man on the cheek before walking swiftly through the brick wall and vanishing.

    The man turned to Misha.

    “I suppose you’re here for the same reason?” he said. The man’s eyes fell upon her with a welcoming smile.

    Misha’s mind was swamped, to say the least, from what she’d just seen.

_That’s a first._

    She snapped her jaw shut, not even realizing it was open, to simply nod dumbly to the man. His smile failed to falter at her momentary lapse of brain function. The hold on her crest tightened before she dropped it back in her pocket.

    “I’m assuming it’s your first time. You seem no stranger to magic but that doesn’t mean you can't be surprised. Just move quickly—no need to run—towards the wall and you will find yourself on the other side, just follow the signs from then on.” Misha, shook herself out of her stupor to absorb the information. His words were kind and thoughtful, it would be rude not to.

    “T-thank you, Sir. You would be right.”

    “It’s no trouble. Tera, go with her. Go on, you’ll be fine. Owl me when you arrive.” he motioned to the brick wall. The kind, silver-haired man stepped back and nudged the boy towards it. Misha, with her eyes pinched shut, followed suit.

 

* * *

 

    Misha opened her eyes with a gasp. All the sounds and smells came back to her at once, hitting hard, and disorienting her for a moment. Especially because it was different yet so similar. The smells changed from dirty and suffocating to crisp like after a rainstorm, and sweet like hot chocolate and candy canes. Everything was vibrant as if her world went from black and white to colour. The train was red like what you would imagine the perfect candy apple to look like, all framed with a shiny black and polished metal. Momentarily, Misha wondered if the people on the other side of the wall saw them disappear.

    “Hello, my name is Tera Lacour, that was my Father.” The boy's voice was soft and shy as if unsure and extremely nervous. Misha shook herself from her roaming speculations.

    “Misha Crow, and thank you, again. Are we to board the train?”

    “Yeah, and sooner rather than later or all the good compartments will be taken up. That or we'll be sharing with other people as overflow and that’s never fun.” his nose scrunched as if reliving a rather unpleasant memory.

    “Personal experience?”

    “You could say that. You want to sit with me?”

    Misha thought idly for a moment. “Sure.”

 

\---

 

    The compartments were not large, per se, but they were roomy and could comfortably sit six to eight people relative to their size; perhaps even ten if a few didn't mind sitting on the floor. And there were many of them. Tera hoisted his trunk into the overhead compartment after gathering a few books and a small pouch of Chiko nuts from her bad, Misha followed suit.

    Lifting up the table from the wall, she items down to stare out the window for a moment before getting comfortable and settling in to read. Tera did the same, sending her a small smile before turning to his own book with a pleased sigh.


	2. That Sort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to be sorted- oh? who's that?
> 
> Updated

   

* * *

 

 _“Where the willingness is great, the difficulties cannot be great.”_ _-Niccolo Machiavelli_

 

* * *

 

 

    Only one other person joined them in their compartment. And after a short introduction, they found his name was Oliver. Oliver and Misha seemingly shared an uncanny resemblance in which they both had curly, raven hair, green eyes and sharp facial features that made them look rather delicate. Tera was convinced they were siblings and without prompt, started coming up with names such as: the ‘Raven Twins’ or a variation thereof. Despite rolling their eyes, Misha and Oliver found it rather amusing as neither of them took any offence.

    Four knocks came before the door slid open to reveal a plump older woman dressed in a multitude of pastel colours pushing a cart stacked high with countless kinds of treats and candies.

    “Anything off the trolley, Dears?” she said. Her smile was kind and welcoming as she waited patiently on the compartment's occupants.

    They each politely turned her away. Oliver, decidedly fond, stayed with them, partaking in a few Chiko nuts and quiet reading with the occasional friendly banter.

 

\---

 

    “Misha. Misha, we would do best to get our robes on, we’ll be arriving soon.”

    Tera nudged her gently, his voice soft but more confident than it had been during their first confrontation. Oliver reached over to bookmark her book and move it so that it didn't drop when she shifted up from her light slumber.

    “Hey there, you slept a bit. Looks like you needed it.” Oliver said, standing to make room for Misha to shift around the table and stretch.

    “Yes, thank you. We’ve only just met and you’ve both entrapped my heart, taking care of me like this,” Misha grinned, teasing the two who simply shook their heads and covering a smile.

    “We can say the same for you, now up. Time to get dressed.” Oliver shooed her up to drop the table back down and make more space. They each grabbed their items from the overhead compartment and turned away for mock privacy.

    “What house are you in, Tera?” Misha asked, absently fumbling with her robe cuff before reaching into her jacket pocket to grasp the crest and map the figure.

    “Ravenclaw. Runs in my family,” he said thoughtfully. “Though, my Great-Great Gran was re-sorted into Hufflepuff after the first 3 years. Luckily my family isn't one of those families that shuns for things like that.” His nose curled ever-so-slightly in a grimace. “You both are first years, yeah?”

    “Yeah,” they both said.

     Tera continued, ”You know, what if you don’t tell anyone your last names so you could say you’re siblings. No one would know any different! It’s not like the teachers, or even the Headmaster, have records. Do the letters count?” he turned around, looking proud of himself for a moment. They had all dressed and sat by the time his epiphany was over.

    “You’re really dedicated to this, aren't you?” Oliver chuckled, and leaned back, looking over to the boy in question.

    “Alright enough of that, no need to start rumours.” Misha scolded lightly, packing her pouch of Chiko nuts and books back into her case, then into her sack.

    “‘Suppose you’re right. It would be quite a mess, wouldn't it?” Tera looked at them sheepishly before lighting up again. “So what house are you looking to be in, Oliver?”

    The train was slowly coming to a halt as a new station came into view.

    Oliver was silent for a moment, “You know, I don't think I care too much. My mum told me she wouldn't care as long as I had somewhere I felt like I belong, but I think she secretly wishes it’s anything but Gryffindor,” he said thoughtfully.

    The train stopped with a jerk and they all gathered their items before stepping off and onto the new platform. Misha looked around, less in aw and more in surveying and observing the new land. A slight rustle of the nearby bush along the tree line caught her eye. She didn't hear so much as she saw due to the rather imposing wolf-man that was herding them all to one spot with an unnecessary volume. The two boys stopped to watch her as she split from the crowd and returning promptly as if it never happened.

    There was something tucked in her sleeve. Both pairs of watchful eyes widened dramatically at what they saw. Misha brought a finger to her lips in a ‘shushing’ motion before smirking at them and continuing with the crowd.

 

* * *

 

    Getting off the boats without getting soaked was supposedly the hard part. A few didn't make it, you could hear the obvious squelch of their trainers as they followed behind everyone who managed to stay dry. Misha and the boys got ‘lucky’.

    “Mum says that when you go in there are fireworks, but Papa said that there is a test and if we fail we have to read and do the dishes.” one of the girls said. Her glasses skewed on her freckled nose as her red curls bushed above her shoulders. Some of the others gasped in horror and a few just rolled their eyes.

    “That's stupid. There are elves to do the dishes. And _everyone_ has to read.” A well put together, blond student said matter-of-factly. Three other students nodded in agreement, crossing their arms.

    Once at the large, oak entrance of the rather imposing castle, the wolf-man knocked four times before they opened and a grim, old, raven-nosed witch in green robes greeted them.

    “Everyone who isn't a first year please go in and make your way to your respective houses,” she paused. Tera waved off his new friends as he left with the rest of the older students; the older woman waiting for them to leave before resuming. ”As for the rest of you, I am Professor McGonagall. You will enter the castle and into the Great Hall and promptly be sorted into your house. After everyone has taken a seat, the banquet will commence and you will be welcomed with a speech by the Headmaster.”

    Nothing more was said as she opened the door wider and lead the new students to what was presumed to be the ‘Great Hall’. It was noisy, but not so noisy that conversations could not be overheard.

    Each one of their robes slowly began to change colours. Most red and blue, momentarily hovering between the two before becoming a single colour, a few changed yellow, and the rest were green. As this was happening the entire room went silent in bated breath to see who went where. Once all the robes turned a single colour the once quiet room quickly morphed into cheers and claps fit for a stadium, not an enclosed room.

    Misha’s ears rang unpleasantly and by the looks of it, so did a few of the others. She looked over towards the blue table, where many of the students with matching robes were headed, eyes momentarily searching for Tera. When they locked onto him, he was giving her a winching, but heartfelt smile and encouraging thumbs up.

_So trusting._

    Misha looked down at her robes and she broke out with a grin, trying hard to smother it as she looked over to her new-found friend, who happened to be in the same colours. Misha had been so caught up in watching the others’ robes turn, she completely forgot her own.

    Adjusting her sleeve, Misha and Oliver walked over to their new table. Before they sat, however, they both noticed a boy; a boy with dark brown hair, wavy with only a vestige of soft curl, sitting entirely alone—or rather—avoided. They both walked over and sat in the two empty spots on either side of him. The boy’s head snapped up as if startled; his head whipped between the duo, dark grey eyes confident yet cautious, but not in a way that says the actions were unwelcome.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im not perfect, and this is just beta'ed by myself so grammar may be lacking some places and i just didn't catch it. if so, just hmu and i can fix it


	3. Beyond the Vale Lie True Intentions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> let's meet the headmaster

* * *

 

 _“Men judge generally more by the eye than by the hand, for everyone can see and few can feel. Everyone sees what you appear to be, few really know what you are.”_ _-Niccolo Machiavelli_

 

* * *

 

 

    The room itself was lit by thousands of candles suspended in midair. They floated high over the four elongated tables where all the other students sat. These tables were laid with brass plates and goblets, framing the piles and cauldrons of food and pitchers of colourful drinks. Just looking at it all was like walking into a fantasy, or something out of a book—purely stunning and utterly surreal.

    Settling down in her new spot, Micha turns to the grey-eyed boy whose eyes still roamed over her quizzically.

    “My name is Misha, and that’s Oliver.” she offered. She gave him a twitching upturn to her lips while Oliver nodded and beamed brightly. He didn't quite fit the brooding stereotype of their new house, but his not-so-confirmative personality drew some heads and inspired some noticeable wonder in a few near-by onlookers. Everyone surrounding them was rather stoic but still incredibly attentive.

    The boy said nothing in return, but his posture became less defensive as he stole a few more fleeting glances at them and the others nearby; his eyes were sharp, not calculating, but absorptive. When not focused on his immediate surroundings, his gaze was locked on the pallid man at the front of the room. Micha thought that this man resembling closely to what she would imagine an aardvark to look like before noting that he moved unexpectedly swift despite his apparent age.

    “Just looking at that man gives me arthritis.” Misha mumbled before taking a bite of the Borscht she managed to get her hands on. She did so in that moment to simply hide her reaction towards the muted snickers of those near her. “He looks like he’s planning to make lives’ miserable for his own sake and say ‘aww it’s for the greater good’ or something equally as ridiculous.” she rolled her eyes, lowering her voice in a gruff, mock of superiority, not only for herself but in hopes the boy beside her would react as well. Seeing the gentle upturn to the brunet’s lips, she allowed the victory of the moment.

> _I like him._
> 
> _Careful, Misha. Know where to place your trust._

    Oliver reached over the boy to gently nudge Misha, knocking her from her reverie. “I have this feeling that we need to stay away from him as much as possible,” He muttered, shrugging. “I’ve heard things—just rumours—but you never know, they could be true. Father said to be careful just in case.”

    “That’s right, you’re French, are you not?”

    “Yeah. Father went to Beauxbatons; then he met Mother and moved here. He only knows what the ministry has told him—I don’t think he has even met the headmaster.” Oliver pondered a moment then smiled, seemingly happy to reveal his father’s position in the ministry. Rightfully so, too, because it drew him into a conversation the people to his left.

    The previously silent boy sat up straighter turning to Misha.

    “I’m Tom. Tom Riddle. I’m a first year, as well. I can hear him.” he said politely pausing for a moment before nodding his head towards Misha’s left sleeve.

    “You can?” she asked incredulously.

_Impossible._

    Tom nodded hesitantly. “I'll keep it a secret if you will?” he asked, his eyes widened minutely, looking like a hopeful little grey-eyed kitten. Misha regarded him for a moment.

> _The eyes; they know so much, see so little_.

    And the more Misha looked at those eyes, the more she could see that those deep-grey orbs held the most beautiful fragments of maroon, but also many many horrors.

    Misha hummed and brought her right hand up, palm exposed in offering. Tom, settled his left hand over hers gently, and only withdrew when a faint tingly sensation went through them both.

> _Never let your guard down, Misha. Always protect yourself._
> 
> _But what if someone else needs protecting, too?_
> 
> _Then choose your ward, wisely. And protect them as your own._

    “He likes you,” she said absently, interrupting her thoughts. “I don't mind.” The offer was silent, but there. They locked gazes for another moment before something drew the boy’s attention, his chin lifted and shoulders squared. His entire demeanour shifted this time.

    The reason for the change became obvious as the rooms orderly chaos was rather abruptly smothered by the dry and encroaching voice of the man who, presumably, is the one Professor McGonagall praised like that of a saint.

    The Headmaster.

    Misha rubbed her crest.

 

* * *

 

    Misha frowned. ' _He’s going to be a problem'_

    “Welcome, Students!” he said. “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Every year is a new beginning, so before we continue with the banquet, I would just like to say a few words before leaving the rest to your Head of House. And here they are: Tattle! Nitwit! Seer! Blubber!

    His voice was wry and grating, withered with age, but confident in a sense of inherent supremacy.

    Misha scoffed, ' _Cheeky.'_

    His very presence oozed power. It was unnerving. Unpleasant; almost soiled like cheese that began to mould. Misha could feel it and it made her skin crawl. She wasn't the only one.

    “Is—is he mad? He must be.” She asked no one in particular, stunned at the unexpected display.

    “Mad?” a girl across the table said breathlessly. “Mad is putting it lightly. But if you ask the other houses, he’s a genius. Best wizard in the world!”

    A chorus of affirmative grunts contributed as many looked back towards the other tables.

    “Yeah. It's only because they’re all predominantly light, though. They don’t see past his beard and self-righteous quotes.” said a boy from a little further down, the same blond boy from earlier. Another bout of agreeing hums and scoffs took over many of the surrounding conversations before everyone turned away again.

    The sudden screams from the other tables is what drew everyone’s attention first, then the startled gasps from their own came next.

    The tables’ eyes travelled to the corporeal figure hovering over the table, with only the tips of his feet disappearing beneath it. The ghostly figure had wide, staring eyes and a gaunt face. His long robes were covered in silver bloodstains and his wrists and ankles were shackled this chains. Misha had read about him. This was the Bloody Baron, the Slytherin house ghost. His story was rather tragic as it read like a Shakespearean, muggle-inspired play; rather dramatic and completely unfortunate.

    The Baron drifted closer in Misha’s direction. She inclined her head in a respectful bow of acknowledgement. It had occurred to her that she would have the chance to meet the ghost, but she didn’t realize it would be so soon, nor so publically.

    “Baron,” she said. He stopped in front of her, the haunted eyes holding her own. Realization flickered over his translucent features. “My name is Misha _Crow_. I’ve read about you, it’s nice to finally meet you in person, Sir.”

> _Choose your allies, Misha. And choose them well._

    “Likewise, Miss Crow,” he muttered before continuing his journey through all their food.

    Oliver leaned forward to get a better look at her. “You are absolutely mental, Misha,” he said. “You’re a bloody mystery at that.”

    Tom scooted closer to her at that, nearly bumping shoulders before inclining his head.

    “You two look so alike. But, you’re not,” he said quietly. “You’re not related.”

   Misha could tell that he was beyond confused. She smiled at that. Most people she had the pleasure of meeting fall prey to ‘The closer you look, the less you see.’ But it seems that there is something more to the secluded boy next to her. She would have to be careful with him for he could be great.

    “How’d you figure?”

    “I don’t know, I just had a feeling ” his brows pinched and his head cocked to the side as if trying to make sense of his own sudden intuition.

    “I thought so. I have a feeling it’s not the first time you just ‘had a feeling’. But it’s not always?” Misha asked thoughtfully, though it was less of a question and more of a statement.

    “Yes.”

    “Does anyone else know?

    “Headmaster Dumbledore, I think.” Tom paused. “Why?”

    “I have a feeling you know why—or at least you have an idea. Secrets are an endless ocean, Tom. Let me be your guide before you drown.” she said. “Be careful what you say to others who aren’t me from this point on.” Misha could tell that these secrets were coupled with endless levels of insecurity, but that soon she would know them intimately. She could use this.

    Misha looked down to her metal crest and thumbed over the resin fixture as she thought of the boys potential.

    She would be his becoming.

_The teacup’s in the air._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything so far is a WIP because i'm writing this with hardly any plan ahead. If I edit the chapters proceeding whichever chapter is current. Then \I will make sure to tell all parties privy so that there is an opportunity to re-cap if so needed. Thank you dear readers, I hope you enjoy.


	4. The Long Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lets meet the House, shall we?

* * *

 

_“One who deceives will always find those who allow themselves to be deceived.” -Niccolo Machiavelli_

 

* * *

 

 

    The rest of the feast was uneventful. New students gaped, older students gossiped. Rumours spread like hellfire, people waited away from some, others gravitated towards them; prejudice against houses bubbled hot in the minds of the younger students as they were taken under the wings of their older years. It was all rather underwhelming in retrospect. Never in her life, has Misha ever had the pleasure of feeling _whelmed;_  it’s always overwhelmed by the sheer ignorance of others or underwhelmed by positively everything else. She rolled her eyes at the antics.

    Slowly plates of food were being preened and plucked out of the available courses, disappearing slowly as time went one. Once everything available had been sufficiently thinned—and soon, completely gone—Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The Great Hall fell silent.

    “Ahem—Just a few more words now that you’ve all been sufficiently stuffed and watered. As you may have heard from your fellow classmates, I am Headmaster Dumbledore and I have just a few terms of notice to give you.

    “First years should be aware that the forest is forbidden to all students. A few of you older years would benefit from a reminder as well.” he stopped. The twinkle in his eye scoped the room before continuing.

    “I have been asked by the school’s caretaker to remind you all that magic shall not be used in the corridors—classes only.

    “Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. This may clash with the possibility of a few resorting, but do not fret, it shall all be explained in time. That being said, anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch, your flight instructor.

    “Lastly, I'll have you know that this year, the second and third-floor corridor is out of bounds to _everybody—,_ ” The word punctuated with a promised threat, but in case anyone missed it, “Who does not wish to meet a very painful death.”

    Misha chuckled softly, and Tom gently bumped shoulders with her in a shared sentiment of amusement. She was growing rather fond of the boy, and rather quickly at that. But strangely enough, it did not spark any concern as she might have expected.

> _Once you have chosen. Protect them with all you are. Nurture them to what they can be. Mould them to your image so that they may protect you, and theirs in return. Do you understand?_
> 
> _Yes._

    “Now before we retire for the evening, let us sing a song in honour of the great school of Hogwarts.” Dumbledore declared cheerfully. Misha took notice of each of the teachers’ smiles fixed on their face, each looking more forced than the next. She sighed. She was in for the long haul.

     The Headmaster raised his hands and wand to conduct. Misha tried diligently to shut out the noise that rang in her ears; the shrill voices of prepubescent children, tone deaf as they each sing the same song to a different tune. Everyone trailed off eventually, but the Headmaster didn't stop his conducting as two red-headed boys from a few tables over were left singing along dramatically in a slow, solemn death-march.

    Misha watched them curiously for a second. Their robes would flicker between two colours occasionally, almost too fast to see, but ultimately stayed on red. ‘Is that on purpose? Are they trying to keep it from changing? She pondered the thought. Why someone would do such a thing was not wholly lost on her but in all her time looking around the room, it was the first time she’d see it happen. She filed the information away for later. There might be something there.

    Once the Headmaster conducted their last few lines with his wand, he was the one who clapped the loudest. The Headmaster seemed quite pleased once the song was over, but more pleased with himself rather than the full room of rowdy students. Misha remained disgustingly uninterested towards his antics. At least that what she assumed they were.

    “Ah, Yes, Music,” he sighed blissfully, whipping his eyes of invisible tears. “A form of magic in its own right, and one we can all enjoy. And now, with the feast concluded, it’s bedtime. Off you pop!”

    At the dismissal, older students, presumably the Prefects Misha had read about, stood up at the end of the table and gestured to each of their respective tables up and out through the doors. The Gryffindor table graced with the two red-headed twins, travelled off towards a series of moving marble staircases as the Ravenclaws moved in the opposite direction. Tera tossed Misha a quick wave before disappearing around a corner with the rest of his house. Hufflepuff and Slytherin, however, did not split but instead came together in a large, joint grouping, engaging in polite conversation as they all moved down towards the dungeons. The Head of houses trailing a little further back behind.

    Tom had remained at Misha’s side, Oliver coming up to her left as he had briefly been separated in the shuffling. He took her hand in his, his grip light and swinging slightly.

    “Did you read any of the books on the requirements book? I read them all but my favourites were the ones on transfiguration, even though Auntie already had me study its theory, but also the one on Herbs and Fungi.” He grinned, his eyes wide with child-like happiness. “Did you know there is a mushroom that can induce a state of euphoria induced psychosis, making you extremely susceptible to suggestion? Muggles call it a ‘Magic Mushroom’.” Oliver giggled at the name.

    “Suggestion, huh. That’s pretty cool.” Misha gave him a soft smile, squeezing his hand for a brief second. “I rather liked the books on potions and spells. Though I did like the ones on plants and transfiguration.” She nodded, before turning to look at Tom who was just simply watching them. She linked arms with him and looked again in silent question.

    “I liked the one on potions and Dark forces.” He mumbled sheepishly.

    Misha hummed. “Yes, that one was rather interesting as well, if I do say so myself.”

    Oliver’s hand went almost limp in her grasp before she took together, more grounding hold as they stepped down a series of stairs and into a darker lit, brick corridor. His eyes were locked in front of him, gazing steadily at a small, light-brown haired Hufflepuff. Misha smirked to herself. Oliver let out a light, shakey huff of air before everyone stopped abruptly.

    “Hufflepuffs, this is where we stop. Say your salutations and follow me, please.” Said the Hufflepuff Prefect, gesticulating towards a few stares and through a small wooden door.

    “And Slytherins, continue on this way.” The other Prefect said.

    Each of the Hufflepuffs waved towards their friends with warm smiles. The Hufflepuff boy that caught Oliver’s attention turned slightly their way, looking over, before heading up the stairs. Oliver's breath caught, feet frozen to the spot before Misha rolled her eyes and dragged him after the others.

    “Did you see is eyes,” he gasped. “They were the most beautifully clear cerulean blue I have ever seen. And his lips. How are they that red? No one has lips that red!”

    Misha and Tom shared a look before they both looked back towards their swooning friend. He failed to notice.

    Shaking her head, Misha focused her observations elsewhere—like for instance, the very large, and very detailed snake carving that was tightly wound in on itself near the ceiling on the wall they all stopped in front of.

    “The passwords changed every week, so make sure to check the message board on the regular. It’s there for a reason.” Their Prefect said before turning to the wall. “This week it’s: Gargoyle.” And as the word was said, the snake moved, uncoiling languidly to create an arch where a doorway seemed to form.

    “I read that our robes can change colours. And that some people change all the time.” Said someone from further back in the group, hidden by a few older years who chuckled as if sharing an inside joke.

    “Yes, if you would enter and get comfortable in the safety of our common room, our head of house will explain how your robes co-inside with your house dynamic.”

    And so they went. The older years, traversing through the room and splitting off, each going and disappearing into other rooms, up the steps or to the long table set in front of the huge glass window. The only thing protecting them from the chilled and deep blue waters on the other side. The small amount for first years left to admire the unfamiliar—yet homey—surroundings.

    The room was large in the way that the dark cobblestone ceilings went up high and the room stretched wide. The expanse of space was lit with black lanterns that emitted a warm green glow that flickered like an open flame, both hanging and stationary on some of the scattering surfaces and walls. The fireplace took up a significant area of one wall, surrounded by dark-emerald and black sofas. The fire cracked warm and inviting, domestic in a way, simply comforting in its entirety. As the room got deeper, there were several wooden tables of various sizes, lanterns and small desk lights, with a few extra inkwells on each, nearest the window. It looks like an enlarged study. 

    To the right, there was another arch, but it was open as it lacked a door, looking into a library with more comfortable seating, shelves stacked tall with sliding ladders so people can reach the top without too much trouble. The walls of the library were not a charcoal brick like the common room or even the rest of the dungeon for that matter, instead, they were a deep green picture frame moulding with golden accents that made the entire room look regal. The moulding seemed to trend throughout the rest of the dorms, going up the few steps that split off in two directions at the end of the library. Each of the rooms held many picture frames, all of them moving, inhabited by those inside them.

    The girl that lead them into the room spoke up, right after taking a deep breath, grabbing the attention of those taking in the sights of their new home.

    “As you do not yet know, I’m Prefect Lindsey Sparkinson. I’m delighted to welcome you to Slytherin house. Our emblem, as you may have noticed, is the serpent, the wisest of creatures, and our house colours are emerald green and silver. As you see before you, our common room windows look out into the depths of the Hogwarts lake. Do not be startled, as we tend to see the giant squid go by regularly—and every once in a while, perhaps a more interesting creature or two. We like to feel that our hangout has the aura of a mysterious, underwater shipwreck, it tends to be oddly comforting.

    “Now, there are a few things you should know about Slytherin—and a few you should forget as I'm sure you’ve heard all kinds of things. First and foremost, I think it best to go ahead and dispel a few myths to help you settle your nerves. There are countless rumours about Slytherin house: that we’re all into the Dark Arts, that we’ll only talk to you if your great-grandfather was a famous wizard, and other rubbish of that sort. I’ll tell you this now: you don’t want to believe everything you hear from the other houses. 

    “Now, I’m not denying that we’ve produced our share of Dark wizards, but so have the other three houses—they would just rather place blame, however, Hufflepuff as you may have noticed, don’t partake nearly as much as the others’. And also, yes, we have traditionally tended to take students who come from long lines of witches and wizards, but nowadays you’ll find plenty of people in Slytherin house who have at least one Muggle parent or in the very least, ancestor.

    “Here’s a little-known fact that the other houses don’t tend to bring up much, be it because of jealousy or proving themselves wrong, we’ll never know: the great Merlin was a Slytherin. That’s right, Merlin himself, the most powerful wizard in history! 

    “But that’s enough about what we’re not. Let’s talk about what we are, which is determined and elegant house in the school. We sometimes play to win because we care about the honour and traditions of Slytherin, but winning can be achieved by other means, and that is what we are here to teach you.

    “We, as a house, also inspire respect from our fellow students. Indeed, some of this respect might be imbued with fear—because of our Dark reputation—but It can be fun having a reputation for walking where others fear too much to venture. If you run into trouble, maybe leave out a few hints that you’ve got access to a whole library of curses, and then see whether anyone feels like nicking your quill holder. That being said, we’re not bad people. We, like our emblem, the snake, are sleek, powerful, and frequently misunderstood as a whole.

    “For example, we Slytherins look after one another—which is more than you can say for some Ravenclaws. Apart from being the biggest bunch of eggheads you’ll ever have the pleasure of meeting, Ravenclaws—in the past—have been rather famous for turning quickly on each other in order to get good marks. But do be careful of rumours. We Slytherins will not stoop to the lows that other houses might, that doesn't mean you can't start any, just be careful what you believe.

    “That being said, we Slytherins are family. As far as we’re concerned, once you’ve become a snake, you’re one of ours—one of the elite—even if you change houses at any point. You know what Salazar Slytherin, our wondrous founder, looked for in his selected students? ‘ _The seeds of greatness.’_ You’ve been chosen by this house because you’ve got the potential to be great, and with this potential, you can be whomever you want, and maybe changing houses, be it once, twice, three times, or even just constantly, is what you need to be who you are in your greatness. And however you might see a couple of people hanging around the common room whom you might not think are destined for anything special, keep that to yourself. If the Sorting Hat put them in here, there’s something great about them, and don’t you forget it.

    “Oh, deary me, I haven’t mentioned the Gryffindors yet! Now, I know a lot of people who say that Slytherins and Gryffindors represent two sides of the same coin—personally, I have nothing against Gryffindors—but I don’t believe it for a second. Some people say that Salazar Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor prized the same kinds of students, so perhaps we are more similar than some may like to think. But that doesn’t mean that we have to cosy up with Gryffindors. They tend to like beating us only slightly less than a few of us like beating them.

    “Just a few more things you might need to know, I know the Headmaster was rather extensive in his explanations, but hold on just a little longer: our house ghost is the Bloody Baron. He was the ghost that went through all of our food during the feast. Keep in mind that if you get on the right side of him, he’ll sometimes agree to frighten people for you, and perhaps if he favours you, some other requests you may have of him. Just, please, for the sake of everyone here, _don’t_ ask him how he got bloodstained. He does _not_ like it.

    “As I said earlier the password to the common room changes every week, usually every Saturday. Please keep an eye on the noticeboard. It doesn't do anyone any good if you don't know it.

    “Another thing is to _never_ bring anyone from another house into our common room or tell them our password. No outsider has entered it for more than eight centuries. There is an exception to those Slytherins who happen to be Changelings or switch between our house and another on a regular basis.

    “Well, I think that’s all from me for now. I’m sure you’ll like our dormitories. We sleep in lush four-posters with green silk hangings, and bedspreads embroidered with silver thread. You’ll sleep well; it’s very soothing, listening to the lake water lapping against the windows at night and the light green glow of the lanterns. Now, to our Head of House, who will speak to you on how your robes work, if you are re-sorted, and how that impacts your stay in the dorms.”

    After that, Lindsey left the other with the tall man in black robes. His long black hair rested just above his shoulders, and pinned from falling into his face. His nose was sharp and his eyes were such a dark brown they were like looking into shadows, but all this simple complemented his features. The strong jaw and the pointed chin, with the softly curved, yet thick, black eyebrows that were somehow both kind and intimidating. 

    The man made Misha curious. She had a feeling that she would grow to like him. He seemed like the kind of man, at least to her, that put up a two front. And that other front was probably disdain for everyone outside her new house. She fumbled for the crest that was still in her robe pocket to trace the familiar emblem encrusted on it. It action calmed her and helped her school her features. 

    “Hello,” He said, tone indifferent but still almost fond. “I’m your Head of House and potions professor, Professor Snape.”

 

 

 

 


	5. Seek And You Shall Find

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Common rooms!

* * *

 

_Beware, so long as you live, of judging men by their outward appearance. - Jean De La Fontaine_

 

* * *

  


    His eyes seemed to traverse over the small group of first-year students, almost calculating, considering those in front of him, for what Misha would have to find out in time, but that doesn't mean she can't guess. Other students shifted and shuffled where they stood, some rocking on their heels, darting their eyes as if looking into the depths of the mans’ would unintentionally bare their soul.

    The man nodded to himself before continuing his introduction. “As was stated by your Prefect, we are a united front when outside the comfort of our house commons. Any and all altercations between your fellow housemates will be handled in the privacy of our own house. Outside, you set your differences aside else the other houses gain the advantage upon us. Of you shall find yourself on the unfortunate side of those within your own house, and me as well.

    “On the subject of your robes, it is likely that you will find yourself, or those you know, regardless of year, being resorted. What that entails is your robes changing colour. Your items will be moved to your new house, and your new Prefect will instruct you similarly to how your current had. You will also be given your new schedule at the end of the day you re-sort. Do not fret, It is not uncommon for people to find themselves switching between two or more houses regularly. When that is the case, the students experiencing this are given their own dorm room that is shared with others like them, and their items are automatically transferred between your dorms as your robes change.

    “Just so you’re aware, those who alternate regularly are usually referred to as _‘Changelings’_. However, it is more likely that you find yourself staying in one house with the possibility of being resorted once or twice in your seven years. But again, as I said, it is not uncommon to be re-sorted regularly.

    “Because of what our house stands for, and how we treat each other and outsiders. You will be expected to hold the secrets of Slytherin House close to your core and hold it dear. There have only been five Slytherins in all seven years that have been re-sorted during their time here, and historically, there has only ever been two changelings that contributed to our noble house. The other houses, as you may observe in the future, tend to have countless re-sorts between them as well as changelings. However, if you are to be resorted or come into the title _‘Changeling’_ , as I speak for all of Slytherin house: Once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin.” The Professor drawled, nodding once more before taking a silent breath and resuming his scan of the rather small group of first years. Misha took the moment of silence to mull over what the Professor said, as well as cataloguing the new housemates of her year.

    Standing next to her on her left was Tom, quiet and reserved and usual, and Oliver, smiling as ever while he wrung his hands and swayed back and forth. On her right was the blond boy she noticed a few times before, the one who pointed out the sorting as well as the other houses' bias. He was taller than her, by probably an inch or two, and his cheekbones were sharp as they came to a point but he still kept his child-like youth and the roundness of his cheeks. Next to him was a girl with straight black hair that reached just below her shoulders. Her lashes were dark and short framing her slightly slanted eyes and her nose was flatter against her face but still slender and petite—like her frame, she was shorter than Misha but not by much. Next to her, was a slightly rounder kid who had brown hair and pink cheeks, the same pink that rests on the tip of his ears and nose as if he were cold. There were only a few others of note, or even just in general: one girl with dark red hair that seemed more fascinated with her nails than anything else, and a pale, spindly boy with dark brown hair. He seemed to be a gust of air away from toppling over as his eyes glanced sporadically through the room all the while refraining from looking at any one person.

    There were only a couple other people about the common room, and from where Misha was standing, only a few in the library. It seemed that everyone else was already in their rooms.

    Professor Snape cleared his throat before speaking once again. “As you should know, there is both a girl’s dorm and a boy’s and then separate housing for those who change houses regularly, both boys and girls as well. Those who attempt to traverse into their opposing dorm with impure intentions are likely to find themselves in an incredibly uncomfortable, and likely compromising, situation brought onto them by those in that dorm, as well as the castle itself. Consider yourself warned. That being said, I would expect this from those in your sister houses but should I find that someone in Slytherin house has made such a fool of themselves and our proud name will not like the rigorous activities I, as your Head of House and Professor, am able to bestow on such person. It is likely that once again, such a person would likely find themselves on the rather unfortunate side of their house-mates, and without proof, I would fail to have a proper reason to bring punishment on those who allegedly took it upon themselves to take measures against them. 

    “There is also a space made accessible by asking your Head of House, for people who find themselves comfortable in neither dorm or room. Though we tend to not have a problem with that. One last thing before I expect you all to turn in for the night as tomorrow will be your first day: there is a curfew. Do not, under any circumstances, be caught outside your common rooms after it. That is all.”

    Their Head of House turned, regarding them all once again, before pivoting on his heels and exiting through the door they came in with a flourish. The group felt silence for the first time. Thought it didn’t last long.

    “How did he do that? That thing with the cape. Is that a spell? I have _got_ to learn that.” Oliver sniggered into his fist.

    “Haven't a clue. I’m Victor Fox. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” The blond one—Victor—stuck his hand out towards Misha while gesturing towards the others. “And this is Natalie Fox, my sister, and James Hale.”

    Misha took his extended hand with a sure grip, nodding to the others. “Lovely to meet you all, my name is Misha Crow.”

    “Oh! And I'm Oliver.” Oliver inserted, waving over Misha’s shoulder. “Misha and I met on the train.”

    Tom reached his hand out to shake as well. “Tom Riddle.”

    Victor nodded hesitantly as he retracted his hand. “Right then.” A brief pause. 

    “I’m Crystal,” said the red-haired girl, finally looking up from her nails. “An’ now that the introductions are done—”

    “What about him?” Oliver interrupted, pointing behind them at the jumpy first year.

    “Couldn't tell ‘ya. ‘Dunno.” She shrugged, lips pierced. “But I don't fancy finding out. I suppose I’ll see you lot for classes tomorrow? I heard from the elders years that our Prefect will bring us our schedules during the morning feast.” Crystal gave them all a half-hearted wave before walking off, seemingly uninterested in any other conversation between them, nor an answer. Misha watched her go, craning her neck to keep her in her sights, watching as her steps gradually became less sure and slower. She stopped near the library entry to stare at something. Something only she could see, or perhaps her attention span is simply lacking. Her jolt is what caught Misha’s attention again after she began to grow uninterested. The red-headed girl disappeared quickly up the stairs.

    Misha blinked. “Curious,” she mumbled.

    “Indeed.” Victor murmured quietly in turn, following Misha’s gaze towards their newly-departed classmate.

    Misha and Victor shared the sentiment for a moment before Oliver took hold of Misha’s arm as well as Tom’s, who visibly tensed, and tugged gently. “Misha, Misha! Look at the library. So many books! Oh, I can’t wait to see the dorms. I bet they’re huge!” 

    Misha huffed, tuning him out before looking back at their new ‘acquaintances’ and sparing a glance to the still-fidgeting boy who seemed to be shuffling further towards the wall. Victor did the same.

 

> _Beware of feeling too much. It can hurt you, Misha. More than anything._
> 
> _But what if I find someone? Someone who can be worthy of the feeling?_
> 
> _Then treat it like one of your plants. Keep your eye on it, watch it closely and let it grow. But don’t give too much too fast, you want it to flourish, to rely on you to help it._

    This could certainly be an interesting year, indeed, Misha pondered. Her thoughts felt both chaotic and eerily organized, simple yet oh-so-complicated; It almost gave her a headache. She sighed to herself and rubbed the crest that left a comforting weight in her pocket in an attempt to help her focus her thoughts. Yes, she needs to do things a certain way and most definitely be careful. But, maybe exceptions can be made. In certain areas that is.

    “Misha? You okay?” Oliver looked at her, hand now in her own as he was pulling her along. She hadn't realized they stopped.

    “Yes, of course. Just right.” She smirked at him, trying for reassurance and normality. He simply nodded, not seeming completely convinced but pacified for the time being. Tom, on the other hand, considered her as they continued, before giving her a small smile and a nod. It seemed to warm something in Misha and made her incredibly wary, but she was grateful for the lack of questions at least.

    In her quest to quell suspicion and her own discomfit, she returned it.

 

* * *

 

    The dorms were quite unlike what one would expect from being under a lake, and in the dungeons. It’s likely that one would think it would be dark and damp with mossy bricks that reeked of mildew and cracks that leaked lake water all over your things as that is what one would be lead to believe through both books, and word of mouth. Yet that wasn't at all the truth. Not in the slightest, no matter what the history books led one to believe, apparently. It was closer to what the library was like. Sophisticated, clean, warm and inviting but still contemporary in its simplicity. The picture-frame moulding continued to be a theme throughout the rest of the residential areas. Dark, polished wood flooring leads the way up the steps and down hallways leading into numerous rooms.

    “Hey, Misha. This door has all our names on it. I didn't know that was possible. I thought it was strictly boys and girls on either side—and why are there two blank nameplates?” Oliver whispered with no sense of true quiet; like it was a secret but one they all knew. And he did so despite following her up the steps like a lost bird. Misha didn't care to try and figure out what he expected to happen but it was obvious it wasn't this.

    “Well, they did say there were exceptions. The castle knows best. Or so I’ve heard—or read.” Tom said with a noncommittal shrug.

    Misha let her curiosity run, taking the chance to question what else the castle could provide, what it could know. Was it truly sentient? Or was there other magics at work that let it be so? That let it know things no wizard could? What does the castle know that she doesn't that is so significant it sets them in the same room? She frowned. Seems like a good thing to make use of the library for. As well as other things. 

    “Come now, don't be shy. Not sure what you expected when you two followed me, but it seems to have been the right choice at the end of the day.” She opened the door before ushering both boys through it. 

    “Y’know—I’m not sure, but I don't think it was this. I can assure you that.” Oliver said, stuck in his puzzlement.

    “Yes, I’m aware.”

    The room was big, but only enough so it fits five, four-poster beds comfortably with plenty of space between them as well as two dressing curtains. The floors were still the dark wood from before but there were white and black fur rugs thrown around and one on top of each trunk that sat in front of each bed. A fireplace separated the room into two sides; two beds one and three on the other; each bed bracketed with big windows on either side, looking out into the depth of the water. The walls remained the dark green, almost black moulding, as it were where it had started in the library and lead up the stairs, through the halls and into each of the rooms.

    “This isn’t at _all_ what the books said.” Oliver breathed out incredulously, as he plopped down on one of the three beds to the right, closest to the door. “Not that I'm complaining in the slightest.”

    Misha scoffed. “Indeed. Though I’m thoroughly pleased that that’s true. I have to admit, I wasn't looking forward to being _damp_ all the time.” She went ahead and took the bed on the same side, but instead closest to the fireplace. Tom carefully sat on the one between them. She took her items out of her various pockets, her wand, crest, and a notebook she held for simple writing purposes and lay them on her bed as she meticulously set to search the new space. It was time to get familiar.

    The dresser that resided on the right side of the bed, was an ebony wood, polished and well treated, void of nicks and signs of ware. A chair sat on the left side bestowed with a scarf—each bed had one, and each was set up the same way—except the two on the other side of the room. Those held no vestige of life. Misha took note of this little fact before searching the trunk at the foot of her new living space, and upon opening, it held her bag.

    All of the four-poster beds were the same colour as the floors but dressed in green and black comforters, silver shams and sheets, and black curtains. Everything in the room was rather elegant, but still strangely comforting.

    Oliver laid back while looking around the room. “You know. I wonder where the chimneys lead.” he quipped.

    “The chimneys?” Tom asked, a slight tilt to his head.

    “Yeah, the chimneys. We’re underwater.”

    There was a knock at the door before Misha could say anything. Not that she knew _what_ to say. It was a very valid question. But she did like to humour the boy.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is Unbeta'd so I apologize for missed grammar and spelling mistakes. They are my own.


	6. Important Author's Note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not and Update! Sorry. But if you're following the story, please read!

    So, unfortunately, this fic is a bit of a mess. It's not like how I dream It should be and I think that is mainly because of how I write, and how it goes again how I was originally posting updates.

    I'm not a chapter-by-chapter kind of writer. I need to write in groups; give myself time to edit and change details, add them if needed, etc. But because I posed chapter updates, once per week. I did not allow myself to do this.

    As you can probably see, my chapters, as they go on, get longer and longer and more thought out, more in-depth, and all with time. As a descriptive writer, trying not to be overly descriptive and also trying to keep to posting a chapter a week -  I ended up writing too little. Not enough. And perhaps it doesn't feel that way for some, but my personal standard of writing is telling me I'm an idiot and I can do better.

 

    All that being said, I'm not going to take this fic down. I'll think of it as a good run. What I _will_ be doing, however, is a complete re-work of what you have read so far. I'm using this content as a rough draft. What you can expect is something similar, and things will certainly be familiar, but everything will be more in-depth. More description, more dialogue, more explanation on what may be important, and fewer original-Harry-Potter-parallels as you probably have noticed.

    (An honest accident, but I have had - and continue to have - ideas but with what I did and how I wrote everything, they didn't get added in, and there wasn't enough there to help insinuate. I originally thought I was going to address certain things in later chapters but have decided that this is my prefered course of action before I get too far)

 

    I'm going to create a new fic that will be titled:

> Unravelled Secrets: A New Beginning

 

    For those who wish to continue reading, I encourage you to keep an eye out and continue to enjoy what my silly brain has concocted. For those in my discord that read along, I extend the same as I will make sure to announce the new fic in-chat.

 

    Thank you,

 

    Tay

    Reaper of Souls

**Author's Note:**

> if i don't get to this or update like a normal person, please remind me because i'm very lazy. i procrastinate on taking care of my sims so, a poke never hurts.


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